The Street
by Arcayne
Summary: Blair disappears after being involved in a street fight. Concluded 9-29-03
1. Default Chapter

THE STREET  
  
It wasn't raining. That's why Blair Sandburg had forgone the   
dubious luxury of taking his Volvo three blocks to get lunch.  
Instead, he had walked, basking in the rare warmth, tying his  
sweatshirt around his waist when (o wonder of wonders) it  
got a little too hot for comfort. It was shaping into a pretty  
great afternoon, actually, with a little breeze that ruffled his loose  
hair and carried mouth-watering aromas from the cluster of tiny  
shops he was passing.  
  
Blair was so intent on the steaming loaves of sunflower   
wheat-berry bread being set up in one window display that   
he almost didn't hear the first child's cry. Distracted, he looked  
around, scanning his immediate area for signs of trouble and  
found none. With a shrug, he turned back to the window, and  
heard it again, a child crying, and then shouting adults.  
  
Blair had never been the type to mind his own business. A childhood  
spent at Naomi Sandburg's side had taught him that "citizens of  
the world" get involved. Add to that upbringing enough curiosity  
for three men, and the results were Blair trying to track the sounds  
to their source, wishing for just a little of his partner's special abilities.  
He managed to locate the disturbance in a nearby alley between two  
abandoned buildings, and he paused a moment to assess the situation.  
  
Two men, both larger than he, were shouting and shoving at one another.  
One woman, in rather garish finery for early afternoon, leaned against  
a damp brick wall, blood leaking from beneath the hand she held to her  
bruised and swollen cheek. Another woman knelt beside a crying toddler,  
her cap of coppery curls bent over him, murmuring nonsense in a soothing  
voice.   
  
One man, the biggest of the two, made a charge at the bleeding woman,  
and the other shoved him back hard, landing a solid punch on the unshaven  
jaw. The apparent object of their fight joined the younger looking woman  
and the child, who began screaming again when he saw his mother's injuries.  
  
"Tammy, you can't go back to him. For Ryan's sake, if not for your own."  
  
Clear gray eyes in a smudged face looked up and saw Blair, then   
glanced back at the fight, now escalating into a winner takes all brawl.  
  
"Can I help?" Sandburg asked, and the red haired girl shook her head.  
  
"It'll be all right, but you'd better go. I'd hate for you to get in...ARGH!!"  
  
A meaty hand with bleeding knuckles was dragging her back, fingers  
tangled in her short hair. Tammy's "boyfriend" had managed to daze his  
his current opponent.  
  
"You stay out of our business, you nosy bitch!" he hollered, and slammed  
the younger woman across the face.  
  
  
That was all Blair needed to see. Without thought, he leapt into the fray,   
jumping on the bigger man's back with an angry shout of his own. The  
slight street woman broke loose, but she was staring at them with not  
quite focused eyes, slow to move. Her male companion shook off  
his own fogginess and dove past her into Blair's opponent, just as the  
hulking man clubbed the grad student off and kicked at him viciously.  
  
The curly haired girl saw a glitter of metal, managed to focus on it,  
hollered "BeBop!! He's got a knife!" while she frantically searched   
for some kind of weapon. A battered garbage can lid, and a chunk  
of brick came to hand and she charged after her friend. He was   
already bleeding from a slash on his arm. The blade crashed on her  
makeshift shield and she smashed up at the twisted face with the sharp  
edged brick.   
  
When the bruiser pulled back to avoid her hit, he tripped over Sandburg  
as the smaller man was trying to get to his feet. They fell together and   
the knife sank into Blair's flesh with a flash of white heat too painful to   
feel at first. Adrenaline gave him the strength to push his attacker away.  
BeBop and the redhead came to his side as the hulk shambled out.   
Tammy and her son had fled during the fight, and now the two friends   
were alone with a bleeding Blair in the alley. They stared at each other,  
still panting, then, as the stranger groaned, the girl knelt beside him.  
She gently probed his side, finding the blade, and the blood that gushed  
from his wound.   
  
"BeBop, he's bleeding really badly." Her grimy face had a smear of   
blood on it, her skirt and hands were becoming soaked with it.  
"We've got to get him to a hospital. I don't dare to touch that blade,  
it might be holding something important together."  
  
The tall, slender man cocked his head, pale dread locks swinging around  
his face. An instant later, she heard the sirens too.   
  
"No time," he said quietly. "Jazz, they're gonna think that we did it. If we  
leave him, the cops.."  
  
"The cops may not find him in time. We can't let him die, he may have  
saved our lives today." Her gray eyes looked down into pain-filled  
blue ones, and she managed a reassuring smile. "We aren't going to leave  
you, mister. You're gonna be okay."  
  
Too exhausted to question her, Blair nodded slowly. The last thing he  
was aware of was someone trying to lift him. The pain drove him   
into darkness.  
  
end part one 


	2. chapter 2

"C'mon, wake up now. Sonata said I can't give you anymore   
painkiller until you spend some time awake."   
  
Blair dimly recognized that a voice was speaking to him, the words  
were somewhat familiar. Another hospital stay. Terrific. Jim was going  
to be pissed. He could hear him now. "If you have to jump into a fight,   
Chief, pick on someone your own size, will you?"   
  
Deciding that he was better off just facing the music, he opened his eyes...  
and stared. He wasn't in a hospital room. And the person beside his bed   
wasn't Jim. He had to be there somewhere.   
  
"Jim?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from all the earlier yelling and someone   
held a glass and straw to his lips. Blair sipped cautiously and tasted...nothing.   
Cool water soothed the irritated tissues in his abused throat. After a few sips,  
the glass moved and he lay back, becoming aware of a radiating pain in his side.   
Experimentally, he probed the site, encountering a thick pad of bandage.  
The woman beside him gently lifted his hand away.  
  
  
"Don't mess with that right now, you might start it bleeding again, and  
you've lost too much blood as it is. Would you like some more water?"  
  
  
"Where's Jim?" he asked, confused, blinking up at her like a blue-eyed  
owl. Some kind of soft lighting behind her lit her cap of curls into a fiery  
halo as she sat on the edge of his bed.   
  
  
"There isn't any Jim here. Is he a friend of yours? What's your name,  
anyway?"  
  
  
"Jim's my roommate. I'm Blair, Blair Sandburg."  
  
  
"I'm Jazz. Do you remember the fight in the alley?" At his nod, she smiled.  
  
  
"Good. Sonata said that she wasn't too worried about that bump on your   
head, and as usual she was right. Doesn't look like it did much damage."  
  
  
She had a sharp little cat's face, too thin for beauty, sun flushed on her  
nose and cheeks. The loose knit sweater she wore over a t shirt was too  
big and obviously second, maybe third, hand. Her loose sweat pants  
had patches on the knees. Not a nurse.  
  
  
"Where am I?" Blair winced at the question from a thousand melodramas  
but Jazz took it in stride.  
  
  
"You've probably guessed that you aren't in a hospital. You were  
bleeding so badly, we were afraid to leave you for the cops to find.  
They might not have done so in time. If we had gone for help," she  
glanced down at her comfortable, worn clothing and around at the  
dark shabby room. "We're street people, Blair. They'd have arrested  
BeBop, or me, or both of us for stabbing you. We couldn't risk that,   
we don't have any money, or anyone who could speak for us. So,  
we brought you here, where we live. Our doctor is really good, and   
I knew she could tell how badly you were hurt, could get you stabilized."  
  
  
Blair took another look around, his eyes eager now. "Okay, so what is this  
place then? Who is 'we'?" Even flat on his back, the idea of being among  
a different culture got his interest going.  
  
  
Jazz laughed. "Look at you! I was afraid you'd get all freaked out. We,  
well, we're this little group of runaways. Throwaways, homeless. America's  
Most Unwanted. Not all of us are illiterate, or crazy, or criminal, you know.   
Some of the others and I got to talking and we decided that if no one else  
wanted us, maybe we could take care of each other. You know, be like a  
family. A really dysfunctional one.. but family. It's crazy, but it works. We've  
got musicians, theater people, a doctor. A few people volunteer at Goodwill  
and the Salvation Army, they get to bring home the stuff not good enough to   
sell."  
  
  
"And nobody notices this community within a city just existing here?"  
  
  
"Of course they notice. We have to move when someone does, because we  
aren't licensed and trained and taxed and regulated. The cops would kick  
us out, or arrest us for something." The red-haired woman looked around  
the room with a fond smile. "This is a pretty good place, though. We've   
been here for months without a problem." Gray eyes, the colour of pewter in  
the soft light, silently pleaded with Blair to understand the significance of what  
he was being told. Pleaded for a promise of silence.  
  
  
Before he could formulate an answer, a curtain moved and a large woman  
entered.   
  
  
"How's our patient?" The stranger asked in a rich voice. As she came closer,  
Blair saw that her skin was a dark, dark brown, her eyes liquid ebony, and   
her hair was a startling silver-blonde cloud around her face.   
  
  
Jazz stepped back, saying "Blair, this is Sonata, our doctor. Sonata, you were   
right, he remembered without a problem when he woke up."  
  
  
The older woman nodded and smiled down at the anthropologist. Her soft  
hands were deftly checking the bandage on his side, and suddenly he realized  
that, although he was shirtless, he was comfortably warm.   
  
  
"Are we subterranean?" he asked, peering around and Sonata raised a brow.  
  
  
"Very good, young man." Her hands slipped up to his head, searching among  
the soft dark hair for the bruising she'd examined earlier. "Your brain hasn't  
suffered an injury from that hard knock, it would seem. Ah, that lump has  
gone down nicely." Finished, she touched his cheek gently, and brushed a  
few stray strands of hair off his forehead. "One of my boys had those   
pretty curls, too." Sonata said softly, and Blair saw that she was older than  
he had believed.  
  
  
"Jazz, he needs to drink a lot of fluids, juice, herbal tea, water. Nothing  
with caffeine. I want you to sleep, Blair. It will heal you faster than anything  
I can do. We have some painkillers, but I'd prefer not to give you anything  
stronger than aspirin, if you can sleep without it."  
  
  
His ears had perked up at 'herbal teas'. "Do you have willowbark tea?  
I'd just as soon have that as aspirin."  
  
  
The doctor gazed at him thoughtfully, and, he thought, approvingly, for  
a long minute. "We have willowbark available. I'll send you a cup of  
it when it's ready. Are you an herbalist?"  
  
  
"I'm an anthropologist, and a grad student at the U, and, oh MAN! How  
long have I been here?" Blair tried to sit up in his panic and nearly passed  
out. His face had gone chalk white as Jazz helped him ease back toward  
the quilted pillows.   
  
  
She looked over at Sonata, worried, but the older woman calmly redressed  
the room and took his wrist in her strong fingers. She counted silently, and   
nodded to herself, then smiled at Jazz. "He'll be fine. I'll get that tea." And  
she left the room.  
  
  
Jazz turned back to their guest. "Blair, what is it? Your family?"  
  
  
He nodded. "My roommate. My partner. I'm a consultant for the  
Cascade Police Department and my partner's gonna be frantic."  
  
  
"A cop?" Jazz caught her lower lip in her teeth, thinking. "Maybe I  
could call him for you. Let him know that you're okay. Would that  
help?"  
  
  
Blair sighed deeply, wincing as it hurt his side. "A little. He's still  
going to freak, Jim has some major protective issues, but if you  
give him a message he'll know is from me...His business card  
is in my wallet, if you can give me my backpack."  
  
  
end part two 


	3. chapter 4

Jazz examined the thin white card with its stark black printing. "James Ellison, Detective.  
Major Crimes Unit." She took a last look around through the scarred acrylic walls   
of the pay-phone booth, shivered, then resolutely took the receiver off the hook   
and dropped coins into the slot. One cold finger punched in the number, a woman  
answered for the Cascade Police department in a pleasant voice, and Jazz asked   
for Detective James Ellison.  
  
A moment of music, and then "Ellison." She couldn't speak.  
"Detective Ellison. Hello?" The male voice barked.  
  
"Um, hi, detective." Jazz's voice wavered and she took a deep breath. "I'm  
calling for a friend of mine, of yours, really. His name is Blair Sandburg?"  
  
Something slammed down hard on the other end of the phone. "Sandburg?  
Where is he?"  
  
"He's okay, really, he's fine. There was this..a kind of fight and he got involved.  
He got hurt, but he's gonna be okay. We just didn't have time to get him to a  
regular doctor.."  
  
"Where is he?!" Jim's stern voice rose and Jazz faltered, almost hanging up.  
  
Normally she avoided cops like the plague, especially angry cops. Steeling  
herself, she answered, "He's safe. He's in a safe place, with a good doctor   
and people watching out for him."  
  
The soft voice quavered and Jim forced his anger and the fear for his Guide's  
well being down. If the woman hung up, he'd lose his only lead. "A doctor  
is taking care of him?" he asked carefully. "How badly hurt is he?"  
  
"He sort of...got stabbed, but the guy fell on him, the knife caught him, Blair   
I mean, in the side. It was bleeding pretty badly, so we had to get him help  
fast. But, I swear, as soon as he can be moved, we'll bring him where ever  
he wants to go."  
  
"Miss, who is 'we'?"   
  
The same question Blair had asked, but Jazz didn't trust this cop nearly as  
much as her instincts told her to trust the grad student. "My family and I.  
That's all. Look, I told Blair I'd call because he was worried about you   
being worried about him. He gave me this goofy message for you, okay?  
He says he wants tongue for supper his first night back.." And Jazz made  
a face at the receiver.  
  
Jim felt a small knot of worry loosen inside him. Okay, Sandburg WAS  
alive. But, her Family? Like a cult?"  
  
"I appreciate you calling, Miss, I really do, but I'd feel better if I could   
check up on Sandburg myself. If he can't be moved, that's all right, I'll  
come to wherever you are. I won't be armed or anything,"  
  
Jazz bit her lip. "I'm really sorry, sir, but..I can't. It's not a bad place, but  
it IS a secret, and people are counting on me, on us..I probably shouldn't  
have called. They're gonna be so pissed at me..We'll take good care of   
your friend, and I'll personally make sure he gets back to where he wants  
to go when he's feeling okay. I have to go now.."  
  
"WAIT!" Jim shouted, hearing the finality in her voice, and desperately   
added, "Wait, please. Will you call back? Can I have your name, so they  
can put you through right away?"  
  
The street girl surprised herself then. "I'll call back." She promised faintly.  
The guy sounded frantic, and Blair wouldn't want that. It sounded like they  
were pretty good friends. "I promise." and she hung up. Her fingerless  
gloves wiped the hard plastic free of any prints that might have lingered,  
just in case they had managed to trace the call. She did NOT trust cops,  
and this one probably thought she was some loon who had kidnaped  
his partner.   
  
Still, when she opened the door, it was another unseasonably  
beautiful day, and Jazz didn't let trouble fester in her mind. With a whirl  
to watch her patchworked skirt flare out over her knitted leggings and   
scuffed boots, she ran off to find some of the other street musicians. It  
was early yet, plenty of time to make some music and a few bucks before  
dark.  
  
end part four 


	4. chapter 5

Blair woke in a soothing, lamp-lit darkness. His head ached  
less, his side more so, but not enough to keep him from taking  
fascinated stock of his surroundings. Music floated to him in  
tangled skeins of sound, also voices, soft and not distinct. Different  
rhythm tapped or pounded or snapped out, a silvery flute, followed  
by warm amber triplets spilling from a sun-mellowed guitar. The  
voices spun in song, rose in argument, and whispered in agreement  
as he became aware of the not unpleasant scent of woodsmoke and  
wax. Every instinct the anthropologist possessed was telling him that  
he was safe. Whoever these people were, they would not harm him.  
  
"Are ya hungry yet?" A soft voice spoke from the curtained doorway,  
jolting him back to himself.  
  
An elderly woman stood just inside the room, a deep mug in her hand.   
Its steam carried a fragrant, gut twisting aroma to his nose.   
  
"I've brought ya some beef broth, and a bit of bread. Sonata doesn't  
want ya eating anything too hard to digest right now." She walked  
slowly toward him, her white hair in a long plait hanging down her  
back over two sweaters and a patched pair of jeans. Tattered Keds  
and socks knitted in bright stripes adorned her hesitant little feet.  
  
Blair eased himself to a sitting position, ignoring the pain in anticipation  
of food. A grumble from his interior welcomed her approach and he  
grinned sheepishly.  
  
The old woman chuckled. "Well, I'd guess you ARE hungry   
then. Eat it slow, boy, and dip that bread in the broth to soften it like."  
  
He mumbled a "thank you" as he took the chipped mug from her delicate  
blue veined hands and accepted the large end of fairly fresh French bread  
in its paper towel napkin. Blair took a cautious sip, letting the savoury  
stuff slide into his hollow pit of a stomach. Another few sips and he   
forgot the white haired woman watching from a chair beside him and  
concentrated on his feast. Slowly, bite by bite, his yammering stomach   
was soothed with food, and he ate the last chunk of broth soaked bread  
with a sigh of contentment.  
  
"That was great...uh.." The young man flushed. He hadn't even asked her  
name, but she smiled again as she took the heavy mug from his suddenly  
tired hands.  
  
"Don't fuss, youngun. Y'had more important things on yer mind than  
lad di dah manners. I've been hungry m'self, and I know what it's like  
when ya finally get food. I'm Charleston, Charlie for short." Her pale  
blue eyes were clear in the seamed, tanned face, and full of good humor.  
  
The anthropologist smiled back, enchanted with this strange tribe's Elder.  
He tried to thank her again for the meal, but was interrupted by a gaping  
yawn. Charlie got up, patted his hand and twitched the motley assortment  
of quilts comfortably around his shoulders.   
  
"Y'get yerself a good sleep, hon, and we'll talk later." As she crossed   
the room with her small silent steps, he was already out. 


	5. chapter 6

"You called a cop? Jazz, girl, what were you think?" Retro was   
pacing 'the quad', the large central area where their group of street  
performers did most of their busking. The sun gleamed off his fashionably  
bald head, and caught the brass armband on his bare muscled arm. The  
three days of sun had darkened his cinnamon brown skin, had tanned  
all of them except Jazz, who flushed under her light sunburn.  
  
"He's not just a cop, he's the guy's roommate. Blair said that he'd   
be frantic, and he was, believe me." She shivered under her faded  
Rainier U sweatshirt. "And pissed, too. But I didn't stay on for long,  
and I made the call blocks away. I'll use a different pay-phone tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow?" Cha-Cha shook her dark gypsy curls, blue lights glinting  
from the raven waves. "You're gonna call back? Jazz, girlchik, that's nuts.  
How do you know this cop isn't setting a trap for you?"  
  
The smaller woman ran both hands over her short strawberry halo. "I  
don't. He can't stake out every phone booth in Cascade, can he? I'll  
pick a really bizarre, out of the way place, and beat feet out of there as  
soon as I tell him Blair's still okay."  
  
"That's another thing, this Blair of yours. He doesn't sound too dumb.  
If he figures out where we live.." BeBop interrupted Retro's new speech.  
  
"Jazz and I both decided to bring him back here, you guys. We owed   
him."  
  
"He's an OUTSIDER!" Cha-Cha put in, "we owe him nothing."  
  
"We were all outsiders before we found each other, Chachi." Jazz  
pointed out. "If we aren't willing to help someone in trouble, especially  
someone who got into trouble helping us?" She let the thought trail off,  
but they all got the point.  
  
The gypsy girl made a face. "Chachi? Like Scott Baio?" and wrinkled  
her tanned nose. "Please."  
  
They all laughed, but the conversation was over. Blair would be cared   
for as long as he needed help. There would be no repercussions for the  
two that had brought him into their sanctuary. 


	6. chapter 7

"I want to be able to start the trace the minute I know it's her!" Jim   
demanded and the communications technician sighed.  
  
"Yessir." The equipment itself wasn't that difficult to set up and install,  
but the looming, glowering giant of a detective made her fidgety. With   
relief, she caught a whiff of Captain Banks' expensive cigars. Carefully  
keeping a straight face, she grinned inwardly, kept her head down, and  
thus missed the last glare Jim threw in her direction as Simon dragged  
him off. Finally. Now she could work.  
  
"Jim, I know you're worried about Sandburg, but harassing Blake isn't  
going to do anyone any good." Simon banks sat behind his desk and  
watched one half of his best team pace. Ellison looked ready to take  
something, or someone, apart. "Anyway, the woman said that he was  
safe, right?"  
  
"Yeah, and she said that he'd been knifed. She said that he'd lost a   
lot of blood. She said that her "family" was taking care of him, Simon!"  
And Jim looked away, jaw clenched.  
  
"We'll find him, Jim." and Bank's voice was a lot more certain than he felt.  
  
Fortunately, Officer Roberta Blake really was as good as her reputation   
and the taps were well in place when a hesitant voice called to ask for  
Detective Ellison. Blake nodded at Jim, and he punched the hold button.  
"This is Ellison."  
  
"Oh, hey, hi detective."  
  
"You know, I never did get your name. I appreciate the updates here,   
and I'd kind of like to know who to thank." Jim made his voice as friendly  
as he could, focusing on hers and hearing how fast her breathing was. She  
was scared. Damn! What had she done to Sandburg?  
  
"Jenn" shot out of Jazz's mouth before she could stop it, the name she hadn't   
used in six years. The name no one knew anymore. She panicked, then  
thought swiftly, and realized that no one who'd ever used her righteous  
name was anywhere near Cascade. It was okay.  
  
"Jenn, thanks. How is Blair doing today?"  
  
"He's doing okay. Running a low grade fever, which Son..our doctor says  
is very normal for this sort of thing. If he rests a lot, he'll be able to move   
in a couple of days. She says that he's a really fast healer."  
  
"He'd have to be." Jim muttered to himself, then concentrated. Had to keep  
her on the line. Had to LISTEN, filter out the traffic. Some kind of motor,   
maybe. Too noisy for a car, too loud for a lawnmower. Not a motorcycle...  
  
"Jenn, you said that Sandburg had been in a fight, but you never told me how  
he got involved."  
  
"Didn't I?" The girlish voice relaxed a little, in response to the lack of  
anger in his tone. "BeB- a friend and I were involved in a domestic   
fight, a guy was beating up another friend of ours in front of their kid,   
and when the jerk jumped me from behind, Blair tore into him."   
  
Jim listened to her enthusiastic praise of his roommate's action with  
chagrin and some grudging pride. Damn, but Sandburg had guts. He  
could no more watch a woman get hit than Jim himself could. It sounded  
like he'd handled himself pretty well against a much larger opponent  
too. Some sort of low, deep sound in the background of Jenn's story  
and Jim focused on it.  
  
"Detective, we've got it!" Blake hollered, and Jenn heard her.   
  
"You've been tracing me? I should have guessed, can't trust  
cops. The others were right about you." and Jim winced as  
his only direct lead to Blair slammed the phone down in his  
ear. He didn't waste breathe berating the communications   
officer, he simply snatched the paper out of her hand and ran  
for the Ford.  
  
end part seven 


	7. chapter 8

The old Ford careened around corners, the flashing   
light clearing a path through the afternoon traffic as  
Jim sped to the trace location. A pay phone, near  
the Cascade marina, right on one far edge of the   
city. He knew black and white units were at the scene,  
he knew that Simon had given orders not to touch  
anything until he got there, but he cursed anyway. The  
caller, Jenn, would be gone. And she was his only   
link to his Guide.  
  
The marina was upscale, the direct opposite of the gritty  
docks downtown. The uniformed police had already   
talked to several people who remembered seeing a   
young woman who looked "out of place" hanging around,  
but they couldn't get a good description. In layers of clothing  
so maybe a medium build, medium height, somewhere between  
fifteen and twenty-five, with a gray knitted hat/ faded blue scarf/  
dark baseball cap pulled over her brown/blonde/bald head.  
Jim wisely left the citizens to the uniforms and walked over to   
where one officer guarded the phone booth.   
  
"No one's been in since I got here, sir, per Captain Banks'  
orders. I can't vouch for before I arrived though." The younger  
man looked worried and Ellison spared him a nod meant  
to be reassuring before entering the booth.  
  
The big man stood in the cramped space and tried to imagine  
Blair walking him through the crime scene. He KNEW how to   
investigate, but his partner's habit of thinking out loud not   
only anchored Jim's senses, it often triggered his hunches.  
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, sifting the scents  
of diesel fuel and harbour water out, dismissing the roar of  
the motorboats in an instinctive pairing with the engine he'd  
heard in the background before. There was a familiar..why  
was it familiar? And why did he associate it with Blair? Warm,  
and childhood memories, and candlewax. Candlewax and..  
woodsmoke. Woodsmoke? Not a city dweller's scent at all.  
  
He swept the phone booth visually as well, hoping that in   
her rush to leave, the mysterious Jenn might have forgotten  
something. The black receiver had obviously had a recent  
polish, by the looks of it, maybe a sweater or a glove.  
There was nothing else. Damn.  
  
Ellison stepped outside, and called Simon on his cellphone,  
to give him the bad news. Without an accurate description,  
Jenn was gone.. and Blair was gone with her.  
  
end part eight 


	8. chapter 9

Jazz threaded her way through the late afternoon pedestrian  
traffic. She wasn't running, running would attract attention,   
but she was shedding layers of clothing as she went. The faded  
beige knitted hat was first into a garbage can, she dumped a   
deliberately baggy dark green sweater into a Goodwill box,  
and got rid of her equally large long print skirt two blocks   
away. This left her in an oversized Henley worn over dark  
leggings, socks and fourth hand Doc Martens, patched with   
electrician's tape over the toes. She wrapped Cha Cha's yards  
of lavender babushka style scarf around her waist, letting the   
fringe hang almost to her knees, and fluffed her bright cap of   
hair. In a storefront window, Jazz could tell that she was passing  
again, a really eccentric college student from the U, or a starving  
artist. Then she set off at a trot for home. Blair had to know, she  
couldn't call his friend again.  
  
"What if Jazz hadn't been prepared, man? Your buddy would   
have caged her and tried to muscle your whereabouts out of  
her!" Retro was furious, pacing Blair's small room.   
Sandburg struggled to sit up. "Look, Jim's a cop but he's   
a good guy. He wouldn't have hurt her, you, Jazz. You   
gotta believe me."  
  
She was sitting on the edge of his pallet, one leg curled under  
her, and now the red-haired girl leaned over, put a comforting  
hand on his shoulder. Charlie sat on his other side and pushed  
the pillows up behind him so he could sit more comfortably.   
  
"No one is blaming you, Blair." and she turned a steel gray  
glare at her posturing friend. "I'm sure your partner's a good  
person. But I can't afford to get arrested. None of us can. We  
don't have good ID, some of us have records for petty stuff, but  
that's the sort of things that cops use against us.  
  
Retro saw how pale their guest was, and came over, crouched  
beside the others in a reconciliatory way. "No, man, I ain't blaming  
you. But, the truth of the matter is, he set her up. He's going to have  
to hold for a couple of days until Sonata says you can move. Then  
we'll get you back home or wherever and trust you not to rat us  
out."  
  
Cha Cha moved restlessly on the three legged stool she  
perched on, pushing her black hair off her face, tying it   
back with a bit of red cloth. Her expression was unusually  
serious. "You understand what we are trusting you with,   
don't you? Our freedom, our lives. Our family. This is no  
game to us." And the dark eyes in the tanned face were  
fierce.  
  
Before Blair could reassure her, Sonata walked in and  
scattered them, asking just how they thought her patient  
was ever going to get well enough to leave if they kept him  
from sleeping? She carried two mugs, one of willowbark  
tea and another of soup, substantial soup, that sent the rest  
of the crowd scrambling for the other room. Handing him  
the willowbark first, the older woman took his pulse again,  
and smiled down at him.   
  
"You don't mind them, child. They can see the goodness in  
you as clearly as I can. What happened today just scared  
them, scared Jazz. We've gotten used to each other, used   
to our world. Used to this place, I reckon. If we have to   
move on, it won't hurt us any in the long run. We'll have each  
other, and family is all that counts at day's end."  
  
A sudden impulse moved him. "What happened to your family,  
Sonata?"  
  
She closed her eyes a moment, her large expressive face  
going blank and impassive. When she spoke, it was from   
far away. "My husband was a doctor, one of the best  
colored doctors in the city we lived in, too. Our boys, I   
had three boys, and a little girl too. My husband and  
our oldest boy died in Korea. My youngest two went to  
Vietnam..and came home in plastic. My baby girl..she picked  
the wrong man to fall in love with. One Christmas, he   
beat her to death before killing his sorry self with his service  
revolver." The dark eyes were suddenly very bright in the dim  
light, and Blair groped for her work hardened hand.  
  
"That was a long time ago, child." Sonata told him. "My  
parents wanted me to have opportunities and I did. I met  
my husband in medical school, and when he died, I went   
back. So I could always support my children, and now, I  
can take care of my new family. Life isn't easy, Blair,  
but it's always precious, at least to me. You eat that   
soup now, and you get some sleep." And, like before,  
she brushed the soft hair back from his forehead and  
left him alone with his meal, and his thoughts.  
  
So much pain, and no bitterness. How many people  
have that kind of heart? His mind was racing as he   
slowly ate, imagining Naomi in those circumstances,  
thankful that her losses had never been that great.   
  
end part nine 


	9. chapter 10

BeBop and Jazz were headed for the quad late the next  
morning when Jazz stopped short. Her companion traveled  
half a block before he missed her, turned, and saw her sitting  
on a bench. With a somewhat patient sigh, he retraced   
his steps. "Now what?" he asked, taking a seat beside her  
and resting his battered guitar case on the grass.  
  
"If you were a sneaky cop who thought the worst of everyone,  
and your partner was missing and you thought that he had been  
kidnaped..What if you traced the person who called about  
him and then didn't catch them? What would you, with your   
narrow cop mentality, believe was going to happen to your  
friend?" Her bright curls were in wild disarray as she ran both  
hands over her head. "I swore I wouldn't call him again, but  
it's inhuman to let someone think a person they care about is  
hurt or dead."  
  
"Aw hell, Jazz, you WOULD think of that." He stretched his   
long legs, covered by faded fatigues and boots from the Army/Navy  
store, out straight and put an friendly arm around her shoulders.  
"You're gonna call him, aren't you?"  
  
She sighed. "It's less risky than leaving a note for him at the police  
station."  
  
"You're not going anywhere NEAR the police station!" BeBop was   
startled out of his habitual feigned indolence. "Are you nuts?"  
  
"No, but he's expecting a call. He's not expecting a note. You know?"  
  
"Okay, I can see what you mean, but, C'mon Jazz. Tell me you won't  
go there."  
  
"Are you kidding? Me? Go near that place? Let's find a pay phone  
away from the quad, just in case." And the pair loped off the way they  
had come, hand in hand.  
  
Jim was looking rather worse for wear after the last three days.  
He snatched up his desk phone when it rang, and barked "Ellison,  
Major Crimes." into the receiver.  
"Detective Ellison?"  
  
It was her. "Jenn! Look, about yesterday.."  
  
"Stop! Don't bother. You are just completely, in that warped   
little cop brain of yours, convinced that I have to be lying about   
your partner, so you were completely justified in trying to trap  
me when I call to make you feel better. You're wrong, but I'm   
not gonna waste my time trying to convince you otherwise."  
  
Jim  
heard a muffled laugh in the background, and a soft *thwap*.  
  
"But, because you pulled that stupid stunt, and because you  
have a nasty suspicious mind and believe the worst of everyone,  
it occurred to me that you might think we were going to hurt   
Blair. We're not. We never were. He's not a prisoner, and if he  
wanted to get up and walk out, bleeding and all, he could. But  
HE believes that we're trying to help him. So if you possibly  
can, just relax. A couple days at the most, and your little world  
will be complete again."  
  
"Sandburg's okay?" Jim's mind, whirling, focused on her most  
important words, and it sounded as if Jenn's voice softened a little.  
  
"He's fine. He's eating some more solid type food, staying awake   
longer. No hint of infection at all. I know this is scary and all, but  
you need to chill out a little. I'm not your enemy or anything."  
  
A hissed "Hurry up, already, will you?" broke through her  
words, and she sighed. "Okay, I'm outta here. Bye."  
  
"Jenn..JENN??" the phone buzzed gently in his ear, and Jim  
slammed it down, but a little of the tension knotting his stomach  
had eased. At least he hadn't gotten Sandburg killed. That's all  
that really mattered.  
  
end part 10 


	10. the street 11

The dancing was what drew Jim's attention to the quad. He'd gone   
over to the university to check on Sandburg's Volvo, still parked  
in the faculty parking area. Jim had decided to leave it there, Rainier  
security was tight enough to keep the car from being stolen, and  
it gave him one less problem to deal with. But, Jim being Jim, he had  
to make sure it was still there personally. He couldn't check on Blair,  
but he had a measure of control over Blair's car.  
  
The detective was driving away from the parking lots when unusual  
movement in the quad near the school caught his eye. Rainier had   
more than its share of free spirits, and apparently they had decided,  
en masse, to celebrate the continued good weather with an impromptu  
dance party. Jim pulled over and walked toward the place, drawn to it  
by the vague notion that Blair would have gone. "He would have had  
some long-tailed theories about why they picked today to dance," Jim  
thought, with grim amusement, "and probably pulled the name of some  
remote tribe that used to do the same thing out of his hat."  
  
Students in jeans, in shorts, in skirts, older folks out enjoying a walk in  
the sun, somehow they'd all converged on this spot surrounding a group  
of street musicians. Onlookers were laughing and clapping in time with a  
guitar, a flute and some other kind of wind instrument. The scene had a  
festival feel, and the musicians seemed to be playing at least as much for   
the fun of it, as for the money being dropped in an open guitar case.   
  
Jim edged closer to the trio, being guided by instincts he wasn't quite   
aware of. They were a motley group, with a young man in a stained red  
t-shirt, fatigue pants and Army boots playing guitar, his fair hair hanging  
in odd dread locks around his face. An older woman was playing the flute,  
long silver-threaded brown hair spilled down her back from a leather thong  
at her nape. The long Indian print skirt and white peasant blouse she wore  
suited her, gave her the appearance of a gently aging flower child.  
  
The third player had most of his attention. She was closest to him, her  
coppery, boy-short curly hair glinting in the sunlight. She had the figure  
of a half grown boy too, adolescent in her baggy green t-shirt and patched  
cargo pants, but she worked her slender wooden recorder with an adult's  
authority. The work hardened hands were covered with fingerless gray   
gloves while slim fingers flitted over the holes of the simple instrument.  
When she noticed him watching, she flashed a quick grin up at him, then  
concentrated on the harmony she was coaxing out of her pipe.  
  
Something nagged at him, and Ellison cautiously extended his senses,  
one at a time, all too aware how easy it would be to get caught up  
in the intricate music, the noisy crowd. How easy it would be to zone  
out, without his Guide to bring him back. Scent..his head turned, sampling  
the light breeze, catching hints of perfume, food, the warm wood of the   
guitar, candlewax, woodsmoke..Sandburg.   
  
Jim reacted before his forebrain had kicked in, stepping forward and  
taking the redhead by her arm, disrupting the music. "Jenn." It   
wasn't a question.  
"Jenn." He repeated, and saw the colour drain out of her sharp little face,   
heard her heartbeat accelerate.  
  
Then, her shoulders squared and her chin came up. "Nope. You've got  
the wrong chick, mister." Jazz's voice was rock steady, and her eyes  
were clear and full of apparent innocence as they met his.  
  
"I'm Jim Ellison. Detective Ellison."  
  
Cool gray eyes looked him over, and then she shrugged. "So? There's  
no law against playing here, Detective, and everyone was having a good  
time." Adroitly, she left the "until you came along" hanging unspoken in   
the air.   
  
The crowd had begun to gather, but the sight of the gold badge on the   
big man's belt kept them from interfering. A cop, a street person, not  
anyone else's business. Excepting, of course, the other players. BeBop   
was frozen in place, watching his friend try to bluff the detective. This  
was serious trouble.   
  
Jim ignored BeBop and Hush, he was completely focused on Jazz, and  
on Sandburg's scent. "I want to see him, now."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about, Detective, but I'd suggest that  
you let go of me." Her face was stone, her words were ice, and Jim was  
losing his temper.  
  
He grasped both of her upper arms, gave one good "I mean business"   
shake, and leaned down to emphasize his next words. "I am NOT playing  
games with you, lady. Kidnaping is a federal crime, and kidnaping my  
partner..." That sentence didn't need finishing. "So, you can take me to   
where he is, now, or I can take you to jail, charge you, and watch the Feds  
throw away the key."  
  
She struggled against the punishing grip of his hands. "Sure, lock me up. That  
will help a lot..NOT. Look, this is not my decision, okay? If it were just  
my hidey hole, I'd take you there and find me a new one. But I am NOT  
going to betray my family, especially not to a cop." Jazz spat the word like  
a curse at the square jawed face so close to her own. "A bully of a cop  
at that! You're a big tough guy, Jim Ellison, you're hell on wheels against  
women a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than you. Does Blair  
know you like to manhandle chicks like this?"  
  
Stung, Jim loosened his grip a bit. He wasn't trying to hurt the girl, after all.  
But her words had covered the sound of someone coming toward him, a   
body stumbled and fell heavily against his back, and the detective staggered.  
It was BeBop, who had given his guitar to Hush and made her leave while  
Jim had all his attention on Jazz.   
  
The younger woman had seen the whole thing, and when Jim faltered, she   
tore herself free and ran. The pair took off in opposite directions, and Jim  
swore. He could track her for a while, but she'd lost herself among the late  
afternoon pedestrians. He didn't dare open his sense of smell wide enough   
to sort her out from among them. Not without his Guide.   
  
end part 11 


	11. chapter 12

"You should have seen her!" BeBop enthused, telling Blair and the others  
about their adventure. "She looked that cop right in the eye and stared him  
down." he glanced over at Blair, and ducked his head, "I don't mean anything  
against your friend, bro, but the guy is HUGE and little ol' Jazz is just standing  
there, cool as a cuke, giving him static."  
  
"Don't think I could do that with any giant goombah who wanted to pulverize   
me, BeBop. I wouldn't have been able to do it without Blair's help." Jazz said  
and their guest looked puzzled. "You've been telling us all along that he's   
a good guy, right? Well, a nice guy, who's built like that, he worries about  
hurting other people. Probably has been told to pick on people his own  
size too. I used that against him."  
  
Blair nodded enthusiastically, unable to resist a good discussion of human  
behavior."Jim normally wouldn't lay a rough hand on a woman, unless she  
was resisting arrest or something. The fact that he grabbed you shows that  
he's under a lot of stress, Jazz."  
  
"Don't I know it? The look in his eyes..." She shivered, "I wasn't looking  
forward to making him belt me one."  
  
"What?" The anthropologist yipped, sitting upright with a grimace. "You're  
totally off base there. There's no way he would have hit you."  
  
"I know you think so, Blair, but you weren't there. You didn't see the look  
on his face. And I was deliberately pushing his buttons. Had to, I figured that  
hitting a woman would freak him out enough to make him let go." Jazz laid her  
bowl aside and stood up, pacing the room thoughtfully. "What I can't figure  
out is how he knew it was me. I wasn't singing or anything, so he couldn't  
have recognized my voice.. and there's no way the cops got a good description  
of me from that traced phone call." She looked suspiciously at Blair, who   
shrugged innocently. With a sigh, she let it go.  
  
When Sonata shooed them out for the night, Blair kept Jazz back a minute.  
"I'm glad you got loose from Jim, Jazz. I know the secret is important to   
your family."  
  
"It's more important than anything..except maybe saving some silly grad  
student knight in shining armor's life." She smiled down at him in the dim   
lamplight and Blair laughed with her, then got serious.  
  
"What I wanted to say was, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he scared you, and  
I'm sorry that I'm the cause of all this trouble for you guys."  
  
"You just keep getting better. I'm sorry, too. I don't mean to keep  
putting your friend down. "  
  
"You should hear my mother. Naomi is rabidly anti-establishment, and  
when she found out I was working with 'the pigs'..." He rolled his eyes  
and was pleased when she giggled.   
  
She ran a hand over her hair and shook her head. "You guys, you and  
Jim, you're really close, huh?"  
  
Blair nodded, and waited for the inevitable question, but she surprised  
him.   
  
"That's good. The family you find for yourself...is he more mellow when  
he's not frantic over a missing roommate?"  
  
Blair held up his hand, index finger and thumb about an inch apart. "A  
little. I'm working on him." and they laughed again.   
  
"Well, keep it up. He looks like he can use all the mellow he can get.  
Goodnight, Blair."  
  
"Sweet dreams, Jazz."  
Blair was definitely feeling better by the next morning, getting up with  
Sonata's help and moving around the little room, taking care of his  
own personal needs. For the first time, he went past the curtain and   
discovered that the next room was large, with a few smaller rooms like  
his branching off of it. The interior looked like a space age room, all  
stainless steel except for the concrete floor. A big pot of stew sat almost  
constantly on the back burner of the stove, it smelled wonderful as he  
sat at the long table and sipped the mint tea Hush had brewed.   
  
Her four year old twins were playing with battered dolls on a braided   
rag rug, their small yellow heads bent close to each other, and Hush   
was sewing at the other end of the table. She didn't speak at all, except  
when she had offered him the tea in a whisper, but her gentle smile  
was warm and friendly. Fascinated, he watched as a small shirt took  
shape in her skilled hands, one straight seam after another.   
  
When Charlie came in from one of the recesses, she smelled like  
sunshine and wind, and a leaf was caught on her long white braid.  
She went immediately to the stove and warmed her thin hands at   
the burner in use , then poured her own tea and added a generous  
dollop of honey to it. Carefully stepping around the little "house"   
the twins were creating, she sat down next to Blair and spoke to   
him in her honest, unvarnished manner. "I think the warm weather   
be aheadin' out, these next few days, Best be thinking on getting you  
back, don't want you getting sick from being hurt and drenched in   
that cold rain we get."  
  
"If Sonata will agree, I think so too." Jazz said from the entrance   
of another room. "We can't wait much longer, Blair."  
  
He nodded, and Charlie smiled her gap toothed grin at him. "Sounds  
more harsh-like than we mean it, boy. Yer welcome, an' we don't  
regret you being here one bit. I'll miss seeing ya in there, an' talking  
with ya, but you got other people missin' ya too."  
  
Putting his cup aside, and moving slowly because of his wound,   
Blair hugged the elderly woman, which pleased her greatly. He   
could tell, because she stood up and ruffled his hair, then headed  
back out without a word. In only a few days, he had learned that  
Charlie disliked sentiment, and had no patience with obfuscation   
of any kind. She was very much an Elder in her family.  
  
"We'll need to arrange a meeting place with your friend, because  
Sonata's going to want you to go to a doctor first thing. I don't   
want you to have to walk too far, if Jim can pick you up." She  
Jazz groaned. "Which means I'll have to call him again. I   
don't know if I can do it." And she leaned against the table in   
exaggerated distress.  
  
Blair got a mischievous glint in his eye. "Call him at home. He  
won't be expecting that."  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Jim really is Mr. Routine. If you've been calling him at work, I'll  
bet he won't have bothered to set up a home tap. Even if he has.."  
  
"I won't be on long enough for it to matter." She gave him a speculative  
look. "You're helping me catch him off guard."  
  
Blair shrugged eloquently. "It's good for him. And, I feel like I need  
to watch out for you too."  
  
"You're a good friend, Blair Sandburg. I hope Jim Ellison appreciates  
you."  
  
"After this? I'll bet the House Rules are relaxed for a month." Blair  
realized as he said it that, as charming as these people were, he wanted  
to be back at the loft. He wanted to be back with Jim. To go home.  
  
"Great. We'll get Sonata to give the okay, call your partner with  
the plan, and get you the hell out of here." and the pair shook hands  
solemnly. Then Jazz helped him back to his couch.  
  
end part 12 


	12. Conclusion

Jim sat alone in the loft, staring at a ball game he wasn't watching  
  
and holding a beer that had gone warm in the bottle. Simon had  
  
ordered him home, or at least out of the squad room, for at least  
  
twenty-four hours. When the phone rang, it took four rings for  
  
him to answer it.   
  
"Yeah, Ellison."  
  
"Detective, this is Jenn."  
  
Jim sat up straight on the couch, phone clamped to his ear. "Jenn?"  
  
"Detective...Jim. We need a truce here. Sonata is willing to let us   
  
move Blair, but not too far. He wants to get back to his life, and   
  
we want to help him do that."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"Okay, then." He heard her take a deep breath, let it out slowly.  
  
"Blair says that he'd trust you with his life. He's asking me to trust  
  
you with mine. Please...tomorrow evening, seven p.m. Do you know  
  
where Martin's cafe is? "  
  
Jim nodded, then smiled to himself as he answered, "Martin's with the   
  
outside patio?"  
  
"That's the one. We'll meet you there, Blair and I. Please come alone."  
  
She hesitated a minute."I KNOW you're going to set a trap, call the  
  
other members of your team and have them waiting to arrest me. Blair   
  
says that you won't. He can't walk there by himself, Jim. One of us has  
  
to be there." And then she sighed. "So I guess it will be me. I'll see  
  
you tomorrow evening."  
  
"Jenn, wait!" He wanted to respond to the lack of hope in her voice,  
  
to the fear he heard underneath it, but words had never been his   
  
strength. Still, he tried to put it all into his voice. "Thank you."  
  
"For helping him?"  
  
"For not leaving me hanging, even after the traced call."  
  
"What can I say, Detective? I'm too nice for my own good."  
  
And the connection broke, was replaced by a buzzing sound.   
  
Jim punched the off button decisively, and tossed the phone onto  
  
the couch. He had plans to make.  
  
Jazz returned to find the whole family gathered in the large outer   
  
room, lamps and candles burning all around. The twins were drowsing  
  
in Sonata's and their mother's laps, and BeBop was playing Bach on  
  
his guitar. Blair was sitting behind the long table, his eyes dark blue  
  
in the dim light, tiny echoes of flame shining gold in them. The triplets  
  
rippled from the street man's flashing fingers on the strings, and Blair  
  
was nodding in time to the music, a dreamy smile on his face.  
  
With a smile of her own, Jazz slipped her recorder free of the loop  
  
on her braided belt and came in with the melody of the piece being  
  
played. She stood in the doorway and the soft piping slid along  
  
the waves of sound. When they had finished, Retro took over the  
  
guitar, and Hush handed Allegra to Jazz, took up her flute. Charlie  
  
told a handful of tall tales when they were tired, and Sonata spelled  
  
her with poetry, some recited from memory, some read aloud from  
  
a well thumbed volume.   
  
Blair shook his head when Sonata paused. "I wish...I can't sing outside  
  
of the shower, and I don't play anything but drums. I know a couple  
  
of chants, I picked them up when I was on a study on Borneo. There's  
  
this village, where.." The others encouraged him with questions, and the  
  
anthropologist found himself contributing after all. Not with chants, but  
  
with the stories of his travels, the stories of the people he had met. Great  
  
respect and humour touched his tales, and he told them with endearing  
  
charm and enthusiasm. His listeners were fascinated, and it was late before   
  
they ended the evening and went to bed.   
  
Blair was relieved when they finally stood in a vacant lot, back out  
  
in the fresh air. The sun was just setting, and even the overgrown weeds  
  
had a richness to them as he looked around, his wound on fire.   
  
Sonata was checking the bandages, shaking her head over the fresh  
  
blood seeping through. "You tore this open again, climbing the ladder.  
  
You should have let the boys carry you, Blair. Your friend is to take   
  
you to a hospital first thing. Do you understand me?"  
  
Blair had NOT wanted to be carried up the escape hatch ladder of  
  
the abandoned bomb shelter, and he didn't want to delay his return.  
  
"I promise, right to the doctor." And he leaned forward, carefully hugged  
  
the older woman. "I don't know how to thank you, Sonata. You saved  
  
my life."   
  
"You go on, child. You live your life, and you take care of your family.  
  
That's all the thanks anyone needs." She pushed the dark curls off his   
  
face for the last time. "Go on now."  
  
"Jazz, I'll take him back." BeBop, then Retro stepped forward.  
  
She frowned. "Don't be stupid. He's already seen me, and I don't   
  
think I have any current warrants out on me. Just because I'm a   
  
damn fool, I don't want you guys to be fools too. We're going."  
  
Blair shook hands with BeBop and Retro, and Cha Cha kissed his  
  
cheek, then rubbed her scarlet lipstick off his skin with her thumb.  
  
Jazz stood waiting, and when he turned to go, he leaned heavily on   
  
her, his arm around her waist. He took a deep breath, and she  
  
grinned at him.  
  
"You ready?" She asked, and he nodded.  
  
"Not too fast, okay?"  
  
"No problem. I'm not looking forward to this myself."  
  
Jim heard Blair before he saw him come around the corner in   
  
the fast falling twilight. He felt his Guide heading toward him, heard  
  
his heartbeat, and he was on his feet and moving toward Blair on  
  
pure instinct.  
  
Sandburg looked good. He was clean, wearing an unfamiliar sweatshirt  
  
and his own jeans. He was obviously in pain as he moved slowly down  
  
the sidewalk, the slight figure beside him supporting his weight. But  
  
the big, open smile on his face was pure Blair. "Jim!"  
  
"Chief." And the older man was there, his hands skimming over his   
  
partner's face and head, his shoulders, stopping at the bandage that  
  
smelled of fresh blood. He couldn't stop the grin that stretched across  
  
his own face when Blair grasped both of his forearms in a familiar  
  
"hey man, slow down" gesture.  
  
"You gonna be okay from here, Blair?" Jazz asked her question  
  
quietly, observing the reunion with a smile of her own. There was   
  
love here, and commitment, and the kind of trust she only had with  
  
her own family. It was good to see.  
  
Both men looked at her, and she met Jim's gaze squarely. "I kept  
  
my word, Jim. Our doctor told me to tell you, he needs to go to the  
  
hospital tonight. You don't want to risk any kind of infection on this   
  
sort of hurt."  
  
"Jazz..." The young man and woman stared at each other for a long  
  
minute, then leaned in for a quick hug. "I.."  
  
"Me too, Blair. I'll see you around." And her gray eyes flashed a question  
  
at Jim. To her surprise, and Blair's, the big man gently put an arm around  
  
her shoulders. He couldn't give her a proper hug without letting go of  
  
his Guide, and he had no intention of doing that. Still, a two armed hug  
  
might not have been as appropriate as the light embrace he gave her.  
  
"Thank you, Jenn." The detective's voice was soft, and she responded with  
  
a smile of her own, a real smile.   
  
"I'll see you around too, Jim."   
  
Jim shifted Blair's weight onto his own shoulders, and she was gone, fading   
  
into the twilight.  
  
Epilogue  
  
A month later, Jim and Blair pulled up in front of St Anne's church. The Guide  
  
was almost back to normal, and his Sentinel was just starting to let up on his  
  
hovering protective stance.  
  
"A bomb shelter, Chief? Under a church?"  
  
"They don't know it's there anymore. Jazz told me that it was bricked up  
  
and behind plaster on the church side. There's an old bolt hole that they  
  
use to get in." He stared up at the stately old building. "I haven't seen   
  
any of them on the quad, Jim. Do you think they're still there?"  
  
"I think they trusted you, Chief. They may be a bit less visible for a while, but  
  
they're there. I've got a good feeling about it."  
  
And Jim pulled back out into traffic, and they went home.  
  
The end. 


End file.
